She places her hand on my face, softly rubbing my cheek. “I know, but it isn’t fine. We need to go.”
“I can’t do this right now. I need to…I need to take inventory or something.”
“Reilly. We really need to talk.”
I turn around, giving my Ma my back and walking around the bar. I grab the rag and scrub the bar counters. My eyes fill with tears as I think about not seeing my grandpa again. This isn’t fair. She has to be wrong.
“Reilly.”
I shake my head when I hear her voice. No way. There is no way that this is happening. I grab Grant’s glass and put it in the bin of dishes to wash. There is so much to do around here. I need to sweep, take inventory, clean all the spouts in the drafts, mop, and see if I can get that MMA fight ordered for the week after next. Grandpa always had a huge turnout when he ordered the fights, and I want to keep that tradition alive. “I have a lot to do, Ma.”
“I can’t see the lawyer without you. It’s part of Lucky’s agreement.” Her voice holds more tears than ever before, and it breaks me. I stop wiping the counter and lean against it instead, bowing my head to try to catch my breath. My ma is my best friend. I’d do anything for her, but I can’t stop this pain—not for either of us. She had lost her husband—Da, to me—when I was a kid, and now she’s lost her father. It isn’t fair that a woman as good as my ma has to go through so much pain. I don’t care about my pain. I can live with it, but how much more can Ma take?
“Let me call Grandpa.” I turn to grab the phone and pause when I am mid-dial. What if she’s right? What if he is dead? There is no way. It’s impossible.
Ma’s hand lands on mine. She pulls the phone from my grip and hangs it up. “He is gone,” she says to me yet again.
“No,” I retort. I refuse to believe it. I am in complete denial.
“Look at me.”
I lift my gaze when I hear the frustration in her voice. “Ma, not him. Come on. Not him.”
“I know.” She nods, embracing me in a tight hug.
I stand there, with my arms at my sides, in complete shock. This can’t be happening. “But he was fine last night…” I keep repeating this because maybe, if I say it enough, I’ll believe it. “He is going to walk through that door any minute, Ma.”
“He isn’t, Reilly. I’m sorry.” She cries on my shoulder. The only thing that can be heard are her sobs and Grant’s drunken snores. “I know how close you two were.”
Yeah, we were close. As close as anyone could be. He was more like my father than my grandfather. He really stepped up after Da died. He took me to my basketball games. He taught me how to fish. When I was old enough, he taught me about the bar and how to maintain a business. He gave me tips about love and how to handle heartache. He reminded me that what was meant to be, would be.
He gave me that talk after he caught me checking out my best friend’s sister. He had slapped my back and tossed his head back with a laugh. He said it was just like the O’Haras to go for something that they shouldn’t.
I had denied it, telling him I thought that she was an annoying little gal who didn’t know the difference between a boy and a man yet. That response caused me to get a slap on the back of the head, accompanied by a lecture informing me to never talk about women like that again. It was a disgrace to the O’Hara name.
I haven’t said another word about women like that ever since.
I pull back from Ma’s embrace and stare into her green eyes. “He is really gone, ain’t he?”
“Yeah, baby boy. I’m afraid he is.” She cups my face, but I jerk away from the contact.
I stumble until my back hits the bar. Everywhere I look, I see Grandpa Lucky. There are photos of him everywhere. The Irish flag takes up the entire ceiling. He was really proud of his side of the family’s heritage, so he painted the flag up there years ago. I shake my head and stare at the floor beneath my feet. A part of me is still in denial, but I know she isn’t lying. Grandpa is really gone, and I have to face it.
I take a deep breath, and when I look up, I catch my mother staring at me. “I can’t talk to the lawyer right now, Ma. I need time. I need to get Grant home.”
“We need to talk about the arrangements, Reilly.”
I grab the bar rag and start to clean the tables. “I don’t want to talk about anything right now, Ma. I just need to work.”
“Reilly…”
“Ma!” I yell. I immediately feel bad. I’ve never raised my voice at her. Not ever. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to shout. I just need time.”
She comes over from behind the bar, walking so gracefully that it seems like she’s floating on a cloud. Ma always walks like that, though. She carries herself so well. Her chin level with the ground and her back straight, she never gives anyone the chance to think she is anything but strong. “I know this is a lot to take in. Our world is changin’ again.” Ah, she let her accent slip. She always does her best to cover it up.
“I’m not ready for change.”
“No one ever is, baby boy.”
“Do you know how he died?” I ask, wiping down the booths. They need to be replaced soon. They were from my grandpa’s time—in other words, old as fuck.
“Not yet. We should know soon, you know, from the autopsy report.”
“He was pushing eighty-five. Hopefully, it was just old age.”
“Yeah, hopefully. Well, we can’t do anything until you and I meet with the lawyer. I don’t know what his wishes were.”
“His wishes?”
She coughs and slides into the booth. “I think this booth is clean enough.”
I stop, realizing I had been polishing the same spot for the last few minutes. “What do you mean by ‘wishes’?” I move on to the next booth.
“Whether he wanted to be buried or cremated.”
I nod. “Right. Sure. Okay.” I continue polishing the table, trying to work my thoughts out, but everything seems scrambled. Droplets of water keep dripping onto the table, so I crane my neck toward the ceiling to see where it’s coming from. Mostly because I’m tired of wiping up the same spot. I don’t see anything, but when I look back down, a few more drops fall. Suddenly, I realize it’s not a leak – I’m crying. I wipe my face on my shirt and carry on with the cleaning.
“Call Anthony when you are ready.”
“What’s Anthony got to do with it?”
“He is the lawyer. Your grandpa made sure to have his last will and testament drawn up by someone you trusted.”
That only makes more tears spill from my eyes. I keep wiping the tables down, like a nervous habit or something. Everything is blurred by the salty water filling my eyes and spilling down my cheeks. Of course he would go to Anthony, I think. All of a sudden, the door slams. When I look over my shoulder, I notice that I’m alone. Ma had left.
I stop busying myself and ignoring reality. I ball up the rag in my hand, throwing it as hard as I can behind the bar. Letting out a guttural, painful yell, I fall onto my knees. My hand clutches my heart as the pain I feel triples. I gasp for air, trying to take deep breaths, but it’s no use. The realization that my grandpa is gone hits me all at once. The intensity of the situation sends me flying on my ass, my back leaning against one of the booths. My head swivels as I stare at everything he built. I’ll never walk through the door and see him ever again. He’ll never have a Guinness at noon again. He’ll never have a shot of Jameson with me at the end of a shift. He may have been old, but he acted like he was twenty-one, got around like he was forty, and cursed like an eighty-five-year-old who didn’t give a shite.
I’m going to miss all of that. I already miss him.
And I don’t know how I’ll be able to walk into his bar ever again, knowing that he won’t be here.
Chapter Three
Gwendolyn
I wipe my eyes as I pack up my studio apartment in Portland. I’ve been crying for days, mostly because of the kiddos’ reactions when I told them I had to leave. All of their little bottom l
ips wiggled and there were so many tears. They had bombarded me, given me hugs, and begged me not to go.
It broke my heart. Still does.
And I have yet to tell my family that I lost my job or that I’m coming home. I don’t know how to tell them that I failed. I know I need to do it soon since I’m heading out in the morning to travel across the country. I spin and plop down onto my bed, bouncing a few times before lying down on my back. I count the dots on the ceiling, trying to put my thoughts in order. I’ve always had a habit of doing that. I’ll fixate on something, start counting, and stare at one particular point until I gain focus again. It’s a weird quirk, but I am who I am.
I look around my apartment and feel my stomach tangle up in knots. Boxes upon boxes are stacked on top of one another. Some are still open, and some are taped and ready to go. The POD cube will be here within the next few hours to load up, and I’m nowhere near ready.
I sigh, grabbing the phone out of my back pocket and planning to call my parents, when at the same moment, my phone starts vibrating. The screen flashes ‘Mommasaurus’ and I gather enough courage to slide the green dot across the screen.
“Hey, Mom!” I say, trying to sound as happy as possible.
“Gwen.”
I sit up and lean on my elbows when I hear my mom sniffling. “What’s wrong? What happened? Is Anthony okay? Is Dad?”
She blows her nose so loudly that I have to hold my phone out and away from my ear. Something is definitely wrong. “They are fine, dear. You know Anthony’s best friend, Reilly?”
Like I could ever forget Reilly. I’ve only had a crush on him since I was twelve. “Yeah, I remember him.” I shrug my shoulders, trying to seem like his name doesn’t cause my body to react.
“Well, his grandpa died.” As soon as she says that, she starts sobbing into the phone. Our families are really close. The only people who aren’t that close would be me and Reilly. We stay as far away from one another as possible.
I gasp, covering my mouth with my hand. “Oh no! They were so close. Is he okay?”
“Anthony says Reilly is taking it pretty rough. He’s closed the pub for now. The funeral is in a few days. Do you think you can make it?”
I really want to, but I can’t afford to buy a ticket to fly there, only to come back to Portland and drive back home. “I want to. I really do. The thing is… I have news, too. It isn’t anywhere near as devastating as what you told me, but I got laid off.”
The sobs tear from my mom’s throat, and I have to pull the phone away from my ear again. “My poor baby!” she wails, blowing her nose into a tissue.
“I’m okay, Mom. I’ve packed up my apartment, but I don’t know what else to do. I was going to come back home. The trip will take a few days, so I don’t think I’ll be there in time for the funeral. I’m so sorry. Can you tell him that for me?”
“Of course. And you can always come home. You and your brother are always welcome here,” my mom says, consoling me. “I’m sorry you lost your job, sweetie. Jeez, today is just an awful day.”
I can just picture her now, cleaning the house with a toothbrush. That’s what she usually does when she gets emotional or has a lot on her mind. I wish I could be there. She really liked Reilly’s grandpa. He always came over for Sunday dinners and would flatter Mom with his heavy accent. “Yeah, it seems to be a day for bad news.” I plop back down on the bed. My eyes start to water when I think about how much pain Reilly must be in. His grandpa was such a nice man. He helped me with my algebra homework in high school. Well, he tried. His Irish accent was so heavy that I could hardly understand anything he was saying, but he always meant well. He had such a kind heart.
“I’ll tell the O’Haras not to expect you. It isn’t your fault, dear.”
“I feel so bad for not being there.”
“I know you do. But life happens, and you need to take care of yourself, too. You can pay your respects when you get here.”
Guilt still eats at me, but I know she’s right. “Alright. Well, I’ll see you in a few days. I need to finish packing.”
“Okay, Gwen. I love you. Call me later. And call me when you’re on the road. And call me when you stop for gas. Call me every time you stop along the way, okay?”
I would laugh if it wasn’t for the wet sound of her voice. She sounds like she’s getting ready to cry again. “I promise, Mom. I love you, too. Tell Dad and Anthony I said hey. If you want to tell them my news, you can.” I dread to hear what Anthony will say. We’re close, but he’s never supported me moving out here. He’ll probably tell me, ‘I told you so’, and the worst part is that he wouldn’t be wrong in doing so.
“Okay, Bunny. I’ll talk to you soon.”
I roll my eyes at the nickname she gave me when I was a little girl. I couldn’t say mommy, so for some reason, I called her bunny, and then she started calling me that. I don’t understand her logic, but it makes her happy, and I never want to do anything to jeopardize that.
“Bye, Mom,” I say as I hang up the phone, tossing it to the other side of the mattress. The dam finally breaks, and tears stream down my face. My stress, accompanied by Reilly’s grandpa’s death, is all too much. Why is life so cruel sometimes? The O’Haras don’t deserve this. I’m sure Reilly feels like his heart has been ripped out. I roll over to where my phone had landed and grab it. Reilly and I never speak, but I want to send him my condolences.
Me: Hey, Reilly. Mom told me about your grandpa. I just wanted to say I’m sorry for your loss and if you need anything, I’m here <3.
That’s good, right? It doesn’t scream best-friend’s-little-sister-has-a-crush-on-you or anything like that. It seems like a solid thing to say. My finger hovers over the send button, and I debate for a while whether to send it or not. I know Reilly doesn’t like me—not even as a person. He isn’t mean, but he always stares at me like I offended him or something. I think that he thinks I’m just some annoying girl he had to deal with because he’s friends with my brother.
Still, it doesn’t mean that I don’t care about him. I want to make sure he’s okay. I gather as much courage as I can, tears and all, and press the button. Butterflies flutter around in my stomach and I feel like I could puke from the nerves. I roll off the bed, leaving my phone in the sheets. I decide to busy myself because there is plenty to do, and I don’t need to hover around my phone, waiting for him to reply.
A few hours go by, and I tape up a few more boxes. When the POD cube gets here, I start loading it until the only thing left is the giant suitcase I plan to bring with me for the trip and a blanket. I stare at the bare apartment, saddened that my adventure here is over so soon. Bright and early tomorrow, I’ll be on my way home.
I open the refrigerator and wrap my hands around a beer, popping the top and taking a long swig. The one thing I love about this shoebox of an apartment is the balcony that overlooks a river. It’s beautiful. An abundance of trees stretches for miles, and the sound of rushing water lulls my stress. When I’m out here, my worries feel like a dull ache instead of a sharp pain.
The bubbly, bitter flavor of the beer coats my throat and my nose upturns in response to the taste. That’s what I get for branching out from my favorite beer. I end up hating it, but I make myself drink it anyway, because throwing it away would be a total waste of money, and I can’t afford to waste a single cent right now. I open the sliding glass door and let the cool breeze flow into my apartment.
I just want to sit outside and watch the Portland sunset for the last time. In my year here, I’ve found that the sun setting along the West Coast is far prettier than on the East Coast, but that’s just my opinion. I grab my blanket from my bedroom, along with my phone, and sit down on a flimsy chair that came with the apartment. I wrap my blanket tighter around my body and glance down to see the small green light flash on my phone, indicating that I have a message.
My breath catches in my throat. I feel my lungs stop working as my mind starts racing, wondering if it’s Reilly. I shouldn
’t care. He would never be interested in me. I know about the bro code, or whatever men call it. I’m his best friend’s sister, so I’m automatically off limits.
Channeling my courage, I down another swig of the awful beer and place the bottle on the ground. I press the home button on my phone and click on the message icon.
Reilly: Thank ye. Are ye able to come home for the funeral?
My insides turn to mush when I notice that he typed out ‘ye’, just like he says in his accent. If I close my eyes and think hard enough, I can almost hear his deep voice cascading over my body. He doesn’t have a heavy accent like his grandpa did, but every now and then, a word slips out. It makes my panties wet.
Me: I want to, but I recently got laid off. I’m moving back home. So, I can’t afford to fly out, come back, and drive all the way across the country.
My phone dings a few seconds later.
Reilly: Aye. I can understand that. I’m really sorry about ye job. That can’t be easy. I know Grandpa would have loved for you to be here, but he’ll understand.
And there it is.
His grandpa would have been happy if I showed up to his funeral, but not Reilly. My heart aches a little bit from the clear rejection in his text, but I’ve already cried plenty of tears over the years for Reilly O’Hara, and I am not about to start that up again.
Me: Yeah, I know. I feel awful about it. When I get home, I plan to pay my respects.
Reilly: He’d like that.
“Ugh! Reilly. I want to punch you and hug you at the same time,” I whine to no one but myself. Grabbing my beer bottle from the ground, I chug half of it and set my phone to the side. I have nothing left to say to him. I’ve dated plenty of guys throughout the years, but none of them made my heart feel the way Reilly always did. Even now, it’s like a newborn star exploding inside of my chest, causing my nervous system to shoot sparks throughout my body.
The feeling is not mutual, obviously.
My phone pings again, and when I see his name pop up, I get confused. I don’t understand why he would double text me if he doesn’t even like me at all.
Lucky Daddy Page 2
